Change of Heart
by eledifra
Summary: Set after OofP, Abused!Harry, Slytherin!Harry (full warnings inside). The Dursleys grow more violent towards Harry now that the threat of Sirius is gone. The wizarding world thinks he'll become the next Dark Lord. Remus has disappeared and Dumbledore has all but forgotten Harry's existence. And as if that wasn't enough, the Sorting Hat decides to resort him. In Slytherin, no less!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Change of Heart

**Rating:** M (R)

**Genre:** Romantic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

**Pairings:** HPDM, BZDM, HGRW, LMSS, other minor pairings

**Warnings:** Explicit Abuse, Violence, Slash, Mentions of Incest, AU (non HBP compliant)

**Beta**: None for now. Actually, if you wanted to help me with my awful grammar, it would be most helpful.

**Feedback**: It would be very appreciated, especially since English isn't even my first language...

"Words" Talking

_'__Words'_ Thoughts

_Words_ Parseltongue

-_Words_- Flashbacks, memories and dreams

Harry's green eyes flew open when Hedwig hooted. For a split second he could have sworn his heart stopped beating. He wheeled around in the bed, staring at Hedwig's cage with a glare. If Vernon woke up he would have hell to pay for disturbing his sleep once again.

Immediately after that panicked thought he realized that it couldn't have been Hedwig: she was trying yet again to deliver one of his letters to Remus. On the windowsill sat a big brown owl, staring at him with a disapproving look and a formal-looking envelope tied to its leg.

It snapped it's beak again, hooting even more loudly than before.

Harry jumped up the bed, cursing under his breath when he heard Vernon grunt from the other room. He quickly snatched the letter from the owl, shooing once he had successfully untied it from the owl's leg.

Wondering who was writing to him at this ungodly hour, especially since no one had bothered to write to him, not even to let him know what was going on in the wizarding world now that Fudge had to admit to Voldemort's return, he watched the bird glide under the moonlight. It was funny how no one, not even Ron and Hermione, had sent him anything. At first he had thought they might be back at Grimmauld Place and too occupied with making the house even halfway clean, but as the months passed and he found himself completely alone, he realized nobody was going to write.

His birthday, not even two weeks ago, had been the most horrible since he had turned eleven. He had been starved, beaten and hadn't even been let out to relieve himself. Only then did he understand exactly how much he had relied on his friends to send him something to eat.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he had actually cried himself to sleep that night, wondering what on earth he could have done to anger his so-called friends so much that they wouldn't even send a card.

When the owl was nothing but a distant spot in the night, he turned his attention to the incredibly thick envelope in his hands.

A quick glance at the digital clock on the night stand - one Dudley had just thrown away, since he had received three clocks just for his birthday - told him it was early morning, too early for any type of mail. He let himself fall back on the bed, wincing as the too big T-shirt scraped against the tender skin on his back, where not even a week ago he had received a beating for not having controlled 'that damn bird of his', and stifled a yawn.

The letter bore the Gringotts' seal. He didn't realize it, but a small frown creased his forehead: in the five years he had known he was a wizard, the wizarding bank had never sent him any personal letters and he couldn't think of any reason they would want to contact him right now.

Giving in to curiosity he tore the wax and started reading.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are writing in regard to your late godfather's will. As you might know, upon his death Sirius Black named you a honorary Black and his only heir. Therefore, you are now in possess of Vault 711 and all the Black Manors around England. We have enclosed a copy of your godfather's will, so you could look over your new possessions when you have time._

_We will be soon sending an owl with Sirius Black's more personal belongings, as well as the ring that states you are the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Gringotts Head Goblin_

Harry stared, bewildered, at the letter which had fallen on his lap, his fingers too numb to hold it up. He couldn't believe his eyes. Since when was he a honorary Black? Heck, he didn't even know such a title existed! Sirius had crossed the Veil almost three months ago, how come he hadn't heard about this sooner?

He turned over the paper, finding himself in front of another one, neatly written on expensive parchment with the Black crest on top. He spluttered wildly when he realized just how much money the Blacks owned.

'No wonder Sirius bought me a Firebolt in third year', he thought, 'with all the gold in there I could buy the best brooms on the market for all the Quidditch teams at Hogwarts and it wouldn't even make a dent on the whole sum'.

He remembered Malfoy had bought brooms for the Slytherin team in second year. Back then he had thought Lucius Malfoy was crazy for spending all that money, but the Malfoys were as old as the Blacks and now he understood it was nothing for them.

His sleep-deprived brain chose that moment to shut off, his eyelids drooping as he leaned his head against the pillow and fell sound asleep. The letter fell of his bed as he tossed around in bed, reliving once again Sirius' death in his sleep, and fell to the floor without a sound.

* * *

He was roused from sleep by a shrill scream that undoubtedly belonged to Aunt Petunia. This time it took him more time to actually manage to open his eyes and look around, trying to find the source of the ruckus, while wondering why it seemed to be unusually bright in his dark room.

His aunt stood next to his bed, the cat flap they had installed in second year swinging slowly, the door to his room open and a streak of sun coming in from it. Her face was livid as she stood stiffly, holding a crumpled piece of paper with both hands. As soon as she realized he was awake she shrieked again, the sound almost shattering his eardrums with sheer intensity.

"Petunia, dear, is everything all right?" Vernon's gruff voice asked from downstairs.

Harry immediately paled, dreading what would happen to him if the letter held by his aunt was what he thought he was. He racked his brain trying to remember if he had put the letter from Gringotts away before falling asleep, but he wasn't able to.

"Vernon, come here right now!" Petunia answered, starting to back away from him with a disgusted scowl that didn't do anything to improve her bony face.

Harry desperately wanted to get away before his uncle managed the difficult feat of removing his enormous rear from the couch and climbing the stairs, but the thunderous sound of steps on the wood made his blood run cold, effectively making him unable to move.

When Vernon made it to his room, puffing and sweating, Petunia handed him the letter. Harry stopped breathing, his mind going over a list of possible punishments he would receive. The least they would do was lock him in his room until summer was up, feeding him with only the strict necessary for survival and letting him out only once, in the morning, to use the bathroom. However, he doubted they would be so merciful.

He forced himself to swallow as Vernon's face turned an interesting shade of puce before gradually morphing into a deep purple. Then he looked up, straight into his nephew's eyes, and the seething rage Harry could see etched on his features scared him more than anything he'd ever seen, and that included Voldemort.

"How could you? We raised you, taking food out of our own son to feed you, a worthless freak," he spat the word out like it was acid before gesturing wildly to the room around him, "We gave you a place to live and an education, and this is how you repay us? Hiding mountains of money from us and letting us believe you were a poor orphan?" the atypical calm in Vernon's voice led Harry to believe things were much worse than what he had originally thought.

But it wasn't until his uncle pleasantly addressed Petunia, telling her Dudders might want another serving of bacon and making her leave the room with a disdainful sniff, that he understood exactly what he was going to be subjected to.

Harry inched back on the bed when Uncle Vernon shut the door and came closer, feeling incredibly small. It was in these moments he realized just how fragile his body was, how easily bones were broken, bruises formed.

For a split second he wondered if he should start begging for dear life. And then his ability to think was cut off by the sight of Vernon unbuckling his belt. His mind blanked, leaving his dull eyes staring at the scene in front of his.

He wasn't going to _rape_ his, was he? No, surely his uncle wasn't so enraged to commit an act that would have him delivered to jail before he could count to ten. The only thought of being violated was enough to make him jump off the bed and inch towards the wall, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. Uncle Vernon smiled grimly, holding his belt and thinking with satisfaction that the freak would remember this beating for the rest of his life.

His uncle's punch hit him on the cheekbone, making him stumble backwards and hitting the wall. He was already trying to avoid letting a groan out, knowing it would only make things worse. He didn't even notice the kick aimed to his shin until it was to late, too preoccupied with the stinging in his face and thinking of a way to put some ice on it afterwards, or it would swell so much he wouldn't be able to open his eye. The blooming pain in his leg made him slide soundlessly to the floor, bringing his knees to the chest in an effort to protect his organs.

The shower of kicks landed on his back, making him want to arch back against the pain, but he knew he couldn't. Harry knew Vernon enough to know that if he lay on his back his uncle would aim for his stomach. He could take a few broken bones, he'd had his more than fair share during the years, but internal damage would do what Voldemort hadn't managed with magic. And he liked living, thank you very much.

By the time Uncle Vernon tired of his sick game Harry was sure he had at least two broken ribs. He was so busy assessing the damage he didn't see the the silver buckle of the belt breaking his skin until a scream left his mouth. He writhed with pain as the cold metal met skin, making a rivulet of blood climb down his shoulder and pool on the wooden floor.

The next blow was clearly aimed to his face, but he ducked with his last energies. The belt struck against his shoulder blades, making his teeth clack together with the force of the impact. The leather left a bad stinging and, while it didn't cut him, it hurt like hell. It knocked the breath out of him, so he could only pant and utter strangled moans every time leather and metal struck him.

Harry didn't even notice Uncle Vernon exiting him room and locking the door less than half an hour later, too tired to even move to the bed.

He lay curled up on the floor, thanking his lucky stars he was still conscious and waiting patiently for sleep to claim him. He wished Hedwig was here with him. While she couldn't bring him any material comfort, her presence was more than enough to keep him sane. He sighed, wincing as the movement brought a sharp wave of pain to his lungs.

He could only hope someone would come to rescue him soon, or the wizarding world would soon mourn his death.

* * *

The 1st of September couldn't have come fast enough, in Harry's opinion. The last two weeks had forced him to rethink the levels of pain he could endure. The Dursleys had only let him out once, a few days prior, to go to Diagon Alley. The trip had been horrible. Not only were most of the wizards glancing at him warily and stepping away for reasons unknown to him (he wasn't receiving any newspapers in fear the owls would wake his uncle), but he had also had to cast the strongest wandless glamour he knew on himself, draining him of the little energies he had left. As if that wasn't enough Dudley had pushed him down the stairs, and walking around with a sprained ankle pretending to be fine had almost made him break down and cry for the pain.

And now, standing between platforms nine and ten of King's Cross, he took a deep breath. For some reason he had the strange foreboding this year would be less than enjoyable.  
Harry double-checked his glamour before striding (well, as comfortably as he could stride with a sprained ankle) towards the barrier between the two platforms.

As usual the platform nine and three quarters was alive with chatter and laughter. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of unease when he saw parents take a look at him and warn their children to stay away from him, without even having the good grace to lower their voices so he didn't hear them. Harry walked through the other students and their families, looking for redheads in the midst of the confusion. He wanted to ask Ron what the hell had happened to him.

He was more than puzzled at the silence of the Weasleys. At the end of last year they had, like every year, made plans to see each other during the summer, but then he hadn't received any invitations.

It didn't take him long to find the Weasleys. He walked towards them with a smile, seeing Hermione hug Mrs. Weasley, but stopped short when he heard Ron's mother talking to them.

"Now, remember, I don't want you talking to Potter. He's dangerous, almost got you killed last year." Molly reminded whilst hugging Ginny.

Ron rolled his eyes, snaking an arm around Hermione, "Don't worry, mum, we're not going to talk to him. It's not like we enjoy speaking to Death Eaters in training."

Harry was sure something in his heart broke the second he heard those words spoken by the ones he considered his extended family. Feeling his resolve start to break and angry tears prickling his eyes, he quickly made his way towards the train.

He felt even more infuriated when children ogled at him and parents whispered accusations between them. This was far worse than last year, when the Daily Prophet had painted him as a madman with a reserved bed at St. Mungo's, and he couldn't help but wonder what had changed during the summer to make his predicament worse while looking for an empty compartment.

He found one in what was Slytherin territory, but he couldn't find himself to care about them as he let himself fall back against the seat and cast a locking charm on the door.

Harry closed his tearful eyes, angrily wiping away the one that had managed to fall down his cheek before taking out his new Transfiguration book to distract himself from the happy goodbyes going on outside.

**A/N: Hi! Not quite sure what I should say, actually... **

**This is my first fanfiction, so I decided to play it safe and go for a cliché. As maybe you've read English is not my first language, and it's kind of difficult to write because I have a limited knowledge. So if you could kindly leave me a review telling me if it's okay or if it sucks, it would really make my day. And if you have any constructive criticism, I'll happily take it! Oh, I really need a beta for my awful English, so if anyone wants to step forward...**

**In the next chapter:**

**Harry meets his favourite Slytherins and the Sorting Hat speaks up.**


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had been watching Potter ever since he had crossed onto the platform nine and three quarters. Though he wanted to hex his nemesis into next week for almost managing to get his father sent to Azkaban with a life sentence, he couldn't help but notice something wasn't quite right.

He tuned out his father and the Parkinsons, leaning towards Pansy and nudging her with his elbow. There was something about Harry Potter that was definitely off, such as the way he was favouring his left leg and the almost imperceptible blurriness around his body.

His mind ran to Theodore Nott, the quiet boy in his year Draco had had never spoked to until two years ago. He clearly remembered Theo having the same unfocused outline during the first four years of school. After all, he had invested a lot of his time trying to find out what the weedy boy was hiding. For that reason both he and Pansy immediately recognized the side-effect of a glamour.

Draco's silver eyes sharpened as he followed Potter's movements, "I wonder what he needs a glamour for." he wondered, sharing a concerned look with his childhood friend.

The memory of what he had seen when he, Pansy and Blaise had cornered Theo after class and taken down his glamour would probably be burned in his mind forever.

But then he shook his head, mentally kicking himself for sounding so worried when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived. What did he care if Potter went and got himself killed? He should be _happy_, if that were the case.

Pansy murmured an agreement, "Have you read the papers this summer? I almost feel sorry for him."

"And believe me, it'll only get worse." Blaise's voice muttered from behind him.

Draco almost jumped in fright when his Italian friend put a hand on his shoulder and smiled slyly at Pansy.

"What do you mean?" asked Pansy.

Blaise sighed, letting his hand fall from Draco's shoulder, "Let's go find a compartment before they all fill up, I'll tell you once the others have joined us."

Draco could only nod once before following him onto the train. He spared one glance for his father, but he was so deep in conversation with the Parkinsons he didn't even realize his son was leaving. Any other time that would have bothered him greatly, but not this once, since he would be seeing him again this evening.

Theo and Millicent met up with them just as they were boarding the train. Draco looked attentively at him, but for once it seemed his housemate was able to at least hold himself up without any help. It was more than other years. It probably had something to do with the fact that his father was safely locked up in Azkaban and in no position to hurt anybody.

"Hey guys. How was summer?" Theo asked in an unusual cheery voice.

Blaise shrugged while looking for a place to sit, "Nothing special. Have you been reading the Daily Prophet?"

"Sure, why? Here, I think this one might be empty." Theo said, gesturing to a silent compartment.

Blaise stepped forwards to open the door, but it wouldn't bulge.

He frowned, taking his wand out, "_Alohomora_." The door slid open with a satisfying click.

Draco peered over Pansy's shoulder when Blaise raised an elegant eyebrow instead of entering. It didn't happen often to see his usually impassible friend so surprised.

He glanced inside the compartment and was greeted by the strangest sight. Harry bloody Potter was sitting alone, looking as if he didn't know whether he should cry or throttle someone. His Transfiguration book was all but forgotten next to him as he stared out of the window.

The Slytherins shared an uneasy look between them. It was the first time they had ever seen him without the weasel and the mudblood.

Theo cleared his throat loudly to catch Potter's attention, only to find himself with a wand pointed to his chest and huge green eyes boring into his.

Millicent moved in front of Theo, frowning when Potter's wand followed her every movement, "Hey now, we won't try anything, you can put your wand down."

Harry snorted angrily, eyes shifting warily between them with a defensive attitude, "Like I believe you. Get the hell out of here before I kick you out myself."

Draco couldn't resist an undignified scoff before shoving Nott and Pansy out of the way and planting himself in front of his rival: "Knock it off, Potter."

Whatever reaction he had expected, the small smile that grazed Potter's lips was not it. The wand lowered slightly as Potter looked attentively at him, a pensive look in his eyes, "Malfoy."

Thought Potter's reaction confused him, he didn't let it show on his face as he haughtily made his way into the compartment and sat in front of the raven haired boy.

Blaise looked at Draco and mentally shrugged. He didn't care for Potter, but he didn't hate him, and if Draco wanted to sit with him he would follow suit.

Slowly, some more hesitant than others, all five Slytherins occupied the seats around the Gryffindor. Draco almost laughed out loud at Harry's puzzled expression, the slow blinking of his eyes and the half-open mouth, but instead opted for his usual sneer, "Close your mouth or you'll catch flies."

Harry really couldn't help but stare at Malfoy, even as he sat down. This situation was like a dream -maybe nightmare was more like it- he couldn't get rid of, and it just kept getting stranger and stranger.

He recognized Millicent Bulstrode from the polyjuice incident with Hermione during the second year and he had seen Blaise Zabini here and there at Hogwarts, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember Nott's name.

The boy must have seen his inquiring gaze because he offered an awkward smile, "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Theodore Nott."

Harry briefly returned his smile, not bothering to tell him his name - since he obviously knew who he was - and shifted uncomfortably in his seat: "So, what are you doing here?"

Draco scoffed, leaning down on the seats so that his head was lying on Pansy's lap and his legs on Blaise's, and looking extremely comfortable: "What do you think we're doing, Potter? I'd think even you could understand a simple concept as sitting."

Harry's eyes narrowed again, closing off from any emotion: "Don't make a racket and we'll get along just fine." he replied, picking his Transfiguration book up again and turning his gaze to it.

There were several minutes of silence, during which the Slytherins observed as closely as humanly possible the very slightly blurred outlines of their Gryffindor companion, who, in turn, occupied himself with reading the complicated process to turning a hot-blooded animal into an object and turning it back without killing it.

Then Draco decided it was time to break the quiet atmosphere: "Oi, Potter, what are you reading?"

The raven paused in him reading, raising his head and blinking quizzically at his long-time rival: "The importance of intent in Untransfiguration."

Harry fought against the amused snort that almost managed to come from his mouth at the befuddled expression of Draco and the girls, who clearly didn't have the slightest idea of what he was talking about.

Then he saw Blaise stand a little bit straighter and his face lighting up: "Really? Have you had any luck in it? I've been trying with reptiles and fish for _ages_, but I still haven't managed to keep them alive, they all seem to die because they're missing their internal organs."

"Uh, well, I'm having some trouble with the bigger mammals like cats, but for the rest I've had no such problems. You should try studying the internal anatomy of the animal you want to transform, it helps a lot."

Blaise seemed to consider that piece of advice with a glint of something unreadable in his expression: "You know, you're not so bad for a half-blood."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" asked Pansy, looking really confused.

Blaise shrugged uncaring, slumping back on the seat: "Take as you like, it's not as if I care."

Draco rolled his eyes at the rebuttal of his so-called friend: "Whatever Blaise. But I didn't realize you were so advanced in Transfiguration, Potter, since I remember perfectly well you were having a lot of problems with Vanishing."

"I still do. But Untransfiguration is much easier, you know."

Nott scoffed, brushing a hand through his hair and turning his nose upwards in a pureblood fashion: "As if. I know for a fact that Untransfiguration is a N.E.W.T.s level skill, and Blaise is only able to master it because he's, like, a genius."

A glint in Blaise's eyes told Harry he was definitely amused by his friend's answer: "Just because you're crap at Transfiguration doesn't mean we all are."

"Mind your manners Blaise, at least when we are in the presence of Gryffindors. You never know what rumours they could spread around the school." drawled Draco, smirking lightly when Blaise shot him a playful glare.

"You're just as bad as him, you know? You aren't even able to do a simple summoning charm."

Millicent grinned roguishly: "Hey, at least we can brew a Shrinking Solution."

Harry briefly closed his eyes, soundlessly sighing. It pained him deeply to watch their friendly banter, especially now that it seemed his own friends had turned away from him.

He tried to reign in the explosion of jealousy and irritation that spread through his body, but in the end couldn't manage to stop himself from snapping at them to shut up.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence on his part, while the Slytherins talked about summer assignments and lessons.

* * *

Harry sighed miserably, looking down at his lap. Around him the Gryffindor table was loudly chattering, trading stories on their respective summers, while he was nervously fidgeting in a corner of the table. He had tried talking to Ron and Hermione before they found a carriage, but they had completely ignored him until he had conceded defeat and found an empty carriage of his own.

He cringed when a group of second years who had been quietly talking a few seats away raised their heads and paled drastically, resuming their discussion with even more heated tones.

It wasn't so far-fetched to assume they were speaking about him.

Harry sighed again, closing his eyes and absent-mindedly rubbing his scar. The action drew a gasp from a clutter of older girls who were sitting nearest to him, and he withdrew his hand as if he had been burned before lightly blushing. It was clear he would have to watch himself this year, a wrong step could easily have him thrown out of the school, or worse, even shipped off to Azkaban.

The worse thing was, he had absolutely no idea of what lies the Prophet had sprouted to make the school react in that manner. And to think he had naively imagined it couldn't get worse than last year.

Thankfully in that moment Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall followed by the tiny first years, who looked around in awe. He chuckled, a tinge of bitterness present in the sound, as he remembered when he had been in their place, standing next to Ron while silently freaking out because Ron had told him they would have to fight a troll.

Oh, how things had changed since then...

Minerva McGonagall stood next to the stool, Sorting Hand in one hand and a parchment with a list of names on it. She cleared her throat, catching the attention of most of the students, and glared at the ones who ignored her in favour of chatting with their friends.

When silence had been restored in the Great Hall she swept her eyes across the four tables once again and opened her mouth.

"Allen, Thomas."

A scrawny boy stumbled forwards with a terrified expression, visibly shaking while he sat on the stool. She let the hat fall on his head, obscuring his face from view.

A couple of seconds later, the Sorting Hat yelled out for the whole room to hear: "RAVENCLAW."

The Sorting went on, and Harry found himself bored to death, wishing they would get a move and serve food already. He was _starving_.

But after Poke Royce made his way to the Hufflepuff table, Professor McGonagall abruptly stopped speaking. All the students that were about to fall asleep in their plates suddenly felt much more lively, and stared at their Transfiguration teacher, wondering what the problem was.

On his part, Harry had an oncoming feeling of dread he couldn't shake off. It was the same he'd had last year while wondering through the Department of Mysteries, after finding out Ginny had disappeared back in second year, when Professor Lupin had transformed and Wormtail had managed to escape. It was the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong, and he couldn't do a thing to stop it.

He could only watch as Professor McGonagall turned deathly white, her features incredulous, and turned sharply towards Dumbledore, leaning across the table to speak with him.

She stretched the parchment in between them, pointing at a name and whispering furiously. And Harry couldn't do anything to stop the sinking feeling in his stomach when the twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes dimmed and his smile disappeared.

They seemed to reach an agreement, because McGonagall nodded and turned back to face the students, though she didn't exactly conceal the troubled expression on her face: "Potter, Harry."

In a first moment Harry didn't even realize it was his name that was being called, and scanned the remaining first years to see who would step forward.

Then he repeated the name to himself, wondering why it sounded so familiar. His eyes widened when it finally dawned on him that there was no first year named Harry Potter, because it was _him_.

"Mr Potter, please step up." the Transfiguration teacher called, looking for her lion at the Gryffindor table.

His heart plummeted, and suddenly, he _knew_. He _knew_ why he was being called up there for a second time. His time with the Gryffindors was up.

Harry got up automatically, so dazed he didn't see the frowns and disgusted expressions at the Gryffindor table, the scared Hufflepuffs cringing as he passed by, the Ravenclaws speculating on the new development, the assessing and calculating gazes of the Slytherins.

Before he could even realize it, he was sitting on the stool and the Sorting Hat was sitting on his head.

_'Ah, Mr Potter. I see you know why you've been called here today.'_

Harry choked back a sob, fingers curling around the edges of the stool, _'Please, you can't do this.'_

_'Why not? I won't deny that Gryffindor's done you good, but it isn't fit for you any longer.'_

_'Please, not Slytherin. Please, put me where you want, but not Slytherin.'_

He could almost feel the Hat's frown,_ 'Say boy, why are you so against Slytherin?'_

_'They'll gut me! I won't survive the night.'_

_'Sorry Mr Potter, you only get one freebie. Believe me, you'll fit in in no time at all.'_

_'But-but...'_

"SLYTHERIN!" called out the Sorting Hat.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you ****_so much _****for all of you wonderful reviews, I really loved them!**


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